Other Twisted Tales
by NickeltheRed
Summary: A counterpart to my story Twisted: In which Belle is a beastly beauty, Ariel is a siren, Alice becomes the Queen of Diamonds, Shang regrets leaving Mulan in the snow, Snow White was hunted down for a reason, and so on. A chapter collection which gives the Disney films a darker "Grimm" twist. EDITED and improved!
1. The Beastly Beauty

**Inspired by my other story _Twisted, _a darker take on Disney's_ Peter Pan_. I obviously own nothing in the Disney Franchise.**

* * *

-.-.-.-

_If you could only see the beast you've made of me_

_I held it in but now it seems you've set it running free_

_._

_My fingers claw your skin, try to tear my way in_

_You are the moon that breaks the night for which I have to howl_

_My fingers claw your skin, try to tear my way in_

_You are the moon that breaks the night..._

_._

—Howl

by Florence + The Machine

-.-.-.-

Ever since Belle was small, she was a very beautiful girl. With her thick auburn locks and a pair of gentle green eyes, she was so lovely that everyone else living in her town thought she just had to be _different_. Strange. Some of the other woman often gossiped about her and wondered if Belle was human at all. In fact, Belle had grown ever more beautiful throughout the following years that even her own father held a little fear towards her. His confidence weakened under the pressure of being in her graceful presence, feeling unworthy of it. Whenever he glanced into the mirror at his own round aging face—he secretly marveled at how someone like _her_ could have come from _him_ and his late wife, who also had been a caring spirit, but honestly not the most attractive woman on the outside either. By Belle's seventeenth winter, he started to wonder if was actually Belle's startling beauty that killed his wife on her delivery bed. Perhaps the sight of the babe had been too much for her heart.

But, shortly came that fated day when Belle had been forced to make a decision in front of a horrifying Beast who took her poor old father captive during his recent travels...and by sunset, _she_ had become his eternal prisoner as her father rushed out of the Enchanted Castle to the safety of their greasy little cottage, forever too paranoid to utter a word about it again. He never dared to ask anyone in their town for help to rescue his daughter in turn.

However betrayed Belle felt in the first few months staying there, she still happened to bond with the Beast later on. There was not exactly any other option. He was the master and apparently was just as lonely as she.

And he was certainly affected by her blooming affections. Belle could see this, too, for he began to _change. _

Week by week, her hideous Beast slowly faded back into the handsome man called Prince Adam, whose face appeared in the tattered portraits mounted on various walls of his Enchanted Castle. His flesh was less hairy, more soft and pale to the touch. His eyes returned to their sea blue color, and his natural hair was red as embers, long and thick, which he often pulled back with black ribbons like most French Noblemen were supposed to do. Belle had once dreamed of marrying a distinguished man like him as a child while gazing at couples in love from the bookshop's window.

Although, in truth, Adam eventually came to a point where he just teetered between his humanity and the Curse, never quite moving forward anymore and not sinking back into the old ways either. He certainty looked like his old himself again, but remarkably enough, he could feel the Beast living _inside_ him still. His condition vaguely reminded him of those rumors of Loupgaroux, mystical wolves who masked themselves by walking around in mortal skin for a time until the moon's power made them shift back into animal form.

Two full years in isolation thereafter had put a certain pressure on Belle's mind evidently as well, and on her soul. Her perception of things gradually began to sway. Her level of etiquette and ladylike perfection began to dim little by little. After all, who did she need to impress besides Adam? Within her imprisonment, she seemed to find a peculiar type of freedom. Pretty soon Belle wasn't caring to file her nails every night; instead she allowed them to grow sharp into delicate claws and her gaze grew a bit more savage than usual. On occasion, she even associated noises with her emotions in place of words: a snarl for rage, a soft purr for pleasure, a flash of her gnashing teeth when she felt threatened.

She then chose to wear skirts that were tearing at the hem upwards in odd angles, and preferred to have her hair to flow down freely, growing in a mane of wild curls. She stalked the halls from dawn until dusk barefoot and swiftly, like a ghost who proudly drowned in her secrets. Like a she-wolf in disguise.

The Prince began to worry for his companion's sanity since the magic cast upon his home appeared to be contagious in a way he didn't know it could be—but then again—one day, he realized that Belle was simply becoming the _same_ as him.

Thus together, he and Belle dwelled side by side contently for the rest of their lives, overlooked and unbothered by outsiders. And they reveled in their double-natures, loving and mating with each other with a monstrous passion with clawed hands, fanged kisses, and with their hearts made of gold all alike.

Love was love. It's something that was a blessed Curse and it came in many forms.

For clearly, they both were as beautiful as they were beastly.


	2. An Ocean in Motion

_She's a needer_

_A whirlwind_

_and not so logical_

_But she's an ocean in motion_

_and magical..._

_._

—The Girl I Left Behind

by Charlotte

-.-.-.-

When merfolk fell in love, they tended to love fiercely. They loved spontaneously, restlessly, and as ruthlessly as the winds in the eye of the storm.

Their tides of emotion were as moving and spirited as the sea itself.

And when King Triton's youngest daughter first laid eyes on Prince Eric, both handsome and musical, she wanted him immediately. She'd always carried a fascination for the mortal kind, for their inventions, and the more she watched him from her secret place on the ship's ladder while he played his flute, the more she was overwhelmed by her own curiosity and desires.

She let something akin to a giddy chuckle rise from her chest and the sound was short, soft, but it was striking.

The sea shantie the men were bellowing out faded when lightning struck the sky above their sails. They began to whisper headily amongst themselves in concern.

Ariel happened to catch her father's name being mentioned and she couldn't help but to laugh again at the frightened silly creatures huddled before her.

Another flash of lightning responded to her growing excitement.

And while his followers sprinted about, preparing the ship to brace the coming rain, Eric's eyes fell to the rolling waters below. "Oi, did anyone hear that?"

The elderly one with long grey hair gave the Prince a quizzical look. "Hear what, young Prince?"

Ariel shrieked with delight, causing the waves to rise and clash against the railing.

Eric turned around in surprise, straining his ears. "That!"

He knew they were not alone.

The elderly one clapped his hand over Eric's shoulder. "Forgive my old ears, young Prince, but I can hardly hear anything else over that bloody thunder!"

"It sounded like _laughter_, a woman laughing."

But before they could speak again, the ship rocked them off their feet entirely.

Their nightly lanterns swayed of their hooks and shattered upon the deck as barrels of oil and liquor rolled together, colliding, crashing open, and soon fire erupted up into an all-consuming blast!

Flames spread in several directions, winding around the ship like deadly serpents. Shocked, the sailors started to yell, giving orders from one to the next, and those who survived the aftermath leapt for whatever safety the waters had to offer them. Feeling that dreadful heat lapping at his own skin, Eric realized right away that the ship—the very ship his father, the late king had built especially in his honor—was far beyond repair now. That is was doomed to sink into the depths of this roaring sea, to a place utterly unknown.

He went to balance all his weight on the one railing still left standing upright, hands clasped tightly around a rope hanging alongside him. He could make out a small choir of worried voices. They were calling for him from somewhere not too far off. The thunder continued to pound against the clouds, which was not honestly helping Eric to calm his nerves. Though he summoned all the faith he could find, readying to take his only chance to jump from the deck.

The laughing returned and it distracted Eric once again. He lost his concentration, his footing, and his more of his confidence in getting out of the wreck alive. With his boots slipping from underneath him, he tumbled right down into the undercurrent, which tossed him around like a ragdoll.

On _one_ good note, Eric had been taught the techniques to swim quite decently even as a child, so he forced his way back up to the surface. Behind his eyes reddening from the salt and beyond the streams of smoke, he thought he could make out the shape of a lifeboat waiting for him yet. And even if his throat was growing hoarse, he still tried to shout something at it. "Over here!"

_"Row, men! Aye, I 'eard the Prince! That way!"_

Though Eric had succeeded in gaining some form of attention, this merely reminded Eric of getting _its _attention.

Something else was still slashing nearby...there had to be. Eric could sense it was aware of him too. Wading around, he was actually catching glimpses of movement, a flash of red and green.

"Hello?" he addressed it directly, despite that his mind was warning him to _just keep quiet._

The mysterious dark form under the distant water finally decided to approach him, stopping only a foot away this time. Eric swallowed.

In the light of fire, he noticed the crown of _her_ head first, hair red as blood, slowly rising above the surface. The pair of bright blue eyes were followed by a fine nose and a flawless chin.

Her physical splendor rivaled the statues of the feminine angels that guarded his palace gates, regardless of fact that she obviously wasn't dressed as modestly as they were. She did not seem to care that her chest was only protected by seaweed and two seashells strapped together by a strange silver wiring. The oddest part of her was probably the live crab perched on her pale wet shoulder, much like a pet bird would do.

"...It was you all along?" Eric asked her softly, trying not to scare her off. "What were you doing out here?"

The maiden merely stared back at him, equally mesmerized. Then finally, she spoke. But the language spilling from her full shimmering lips was unlike any language he'd ever learned. It sounded ancient and exotic, like a cross between a dialect from the Orient and Olden Greek.

"Oh. You must not understand me," he pondered.

She hadn't responded with words after that...no, this time she suddenly used _lyrics_.

The very lyrics that his men had just been celebrating to.

_"What do you do with drunken sailor...what do you with a drunken sailor...what do you with a drunken sailor...so ear-lye in the moooorn-ing..."_

Her voice stunned him. Eric had no idea a voice like that could exist. Beautiful was even too weak of a word to describe it. It _was...perfection_.

He surrendered to her presence entirely. For a moment, he nearly had forgotten where he was, floating in the middle of the sea—with his ship on fire.

He shook his head to clear it of the growing temptation. "...Who are you?"

She chuckled sweetly, showing off her rows of little pointed teeth. Eric shuddered. She turned her cheek to him slightly, conversing with the crab in her mother tongue and the little creature clicked its claws in agreement before plopping off into the water, sinking below them.

That was certainly something one couldn't see every day.

Then the maiden eyed him deeply once more while the waves shifted in circles around them, carrying her closer until she was but an inch away.

Her cold _webbed_ hands cradled his neck and without any further warning, Eric was pulled into her ravenous kiss.

When they touched, their chests and torsos coming together, with his fingers gripping her tightly in return on pure instinct, extra bolts of lightning clashed with the surrounding waves.

Her kiss took his breath away. Quite literally. For soon enough, Eric was feeling a sharp pinch in the base of his throat and he parted his mouth for air. But the air now was not helping him anymore, it was only making the throbbing feel worse.

Under the surface they went.

She coaxed him to stay close against her as they swam deeper through the currents.

But the water now was also feeling different to his skin, becoming soft and cool, and it was as if his body could resist the absorption.

_Is this what drowning really feels like?_ Eric thought vaguely, fighting off the confusion the best he could.

And just as everything started to go black, a very powerful masculine voice filled his ears, a voice only a mighty god would have.

_"Welcome home, young prince, to Atlantica."_

* * *

**King Triton had difficulty accepting Eric as a mortal, but what if Ariel encouraged the transformation to be reversed?**

****Slightly inspired by the closing scene with Philip in _Pirates 4._****


	3. Lips Red as Blood

_She'll suck you dry_

___Pray!___

___'Cause no one ever survives ___

___She'll eat you alive___

.

—Rev 22:20

by Puscifer  
-.-.-.-

Those who heard of Snow White inevitably pitied her.

But over the decades, the story had been twisted up into a web of harsh misconceptions:

This was probably due to the fact that Snow White had indeed been a beautiful princess and her stepmother, the Fair Queen had meant to make her a personal target.

No one ever believed the Fair Queen held any good intentions. Really, what type of motherly figure would plot against the princess in that manner, wanting to pierce Snow White through the _heart_?

Thus, poor Snow White became the ideal damsel after her disappearance, and afterwards, her memory became legend and her legend was what shaped into her a helpless victim.

Although the Fair Queen had taken the truth to her grave. Fate knew the true motives behind her actions. Yes, she _had_ tried to slay the beautiful princess, though it was done so to _save_ the visiting prince who was easily seduced by Snow Whites striking feminine charms.

For early one morning at dawn, when she had slipped into showed Snow White's chamber to confront her herself one last time, she had shown the princess the Mirror.

And there had been no reflection to be seen.

There had been _reasons_ as why Snow White had flesh pale as moonlight, hair as black as the night, and lips always tinted red as _blood_.

Snow White was of the undead and her hidden fangs were sharp and wicked.


	4. The Dragon's Soul

_-.-.-.-_

_Thousand armies couldn't keep me out_

_See I've come to burn your kingdom down_  
_And no rivers and no lakes can put the fire out_  
_I'm gonna raise the stakes, I'm gonna smoke you out_

_They keep me out_  
_'Til I tear the walls_  
_'Til I save your heart_  
_And to take your soul_  
_For what has been done_  
_Cannot be undone_

_._

—Seven Devils

by Florence + The Machine

-.-.-.-

After the Hun invasion of the Emperor's Realm, it wasn't long before whispers of strange happenings upon the mountaintops had begun to stir. A new force had risen to resist their rule. The Army of Shan Yu had climbed the mountainside and fought ruthlessly against the mysterious threat, but even together, the Huns disappeared from the battle field like phantoms, and the news of them gradually diminishing spread faster than the first rumor. Shan Yu roped in all of the other self-assured allies that he could, but those soldiers did not return either.

The rest of the Realm barely had any time to rejoice over this when the true turn-of-power truly began.

And eventually, only the Shan Yu Imperial Court remained and opposing warriors from the North and the West were coming to gather outside of the palace walls to end him completely. Apparently they _had_ seen the so-said fearsome leader of this rising force and they all planned to kneel before the leader in unconditional loyalty.

...Then one morning there _she_ was, sitting upon _his_ throne, surrounded by her guards while his remaining guards were nowhere to be found. However the sight of blood on their swords suggested ideas.

How they even passed the gates and slaughtered them while he was sleeping, was beyond him.

Shan Yu had recognized that face immediately though. _Her_ face. The one who created the snow flood, was a woman.

"You!" he growled at her in greeting, "The soldier from the mountains. A woman disguised in armor?"

It made his blood boil and a dark mass of public humiliation settled in the pit of his stomach. And Shan Yu would never forget her face now, for it was the face that caused his downfall _twice_. He lost his chances of winning everything because of her twice!

These schemes of hers infuriated him, and secretly, impressed him at the same time.

But even so, he wasn't about to surrender his throne without one last match. He had unsheathed his weapon, preparing for impact. "I think we have some unfinished business to manage."

"I understand you are the best of the Huns, Shan Yu, but to attack me again is pointless." she told him, voice cool and calm. She didn't appear the least bit fazed by his actions. "Everyone in my army know this. You cannot win this fight."

"Tell me," he remarked, with more open curiosity. "How did you get this far on your course of gaining power and vengeance, Woman from the Mountains?"

"I had Mushu," she clarified, a slight smirk pulling at the corner of her freshly-painted lips. "And I'm no longer Fa Ping, the soldier. My current followers call me The Dragon's Soul."

On her cue, he watched in awe as a little serpent-like creature suddenly slithered its way out of the her sleeve and gradually began to coil at the base of the throne near her feet.

As it circled around her, it _grew_. Its slender body continued to thicken, its snout widened, and the claws lengthened.

And once the dragon was finished with his transformation, Shan Yu was faced with one of the majestic beasts he'd seen many times painted on the buildings of China.

The dragon towered over them in all its glory, gleaming red scales lined with blue with a golden mane running down the back of its neck.

Even her own assembly of guards inched away, not wanting to push their luck as the beast wrapped its tail possessively back around her and the throne.

The dragon's eyes glowed solid white as they refocused on him. It snarled loudly then, before opening it jaws wide to reveal the fiery chasm deeper within its throat as some kind of warning sign.

The sound shook inside Shan Yu's chest, and he could actually feel the deadly heat of the dragon's breath crawling over his skin.

"Mushu was usually travel size for my convenience," the woman added, noticing the new levels of pure wonder and concern coating the warrior's face. "But then, the day after you cut me with that sword of yours, he deemed me worthy enough to see his _true_ form, and from there we've become two halves of one whole. He only obeys my orders, and trust me when I tell you...he does _not_ take kindly to those who threaten me."

It all had made sense to him then...why soldiers never returned from the mountains, the reports of unexplainable sightings.

The dragon was her main defense and her device to manipulate others into following her.

Shan Yu saw what a terrific strategy that was. Because, really, who would ever deny a live dragon? Who would have the gall to deny a leader who has a celestial being like that supporting them?

No one stood a single chance against her wrath.

So in that instant, Shan Yu had expected to be scorched to death, he expected to be captured and executed. The last thing he had expected from her though, was a _choice:_ to die, or join her ranks.

He stared up into those sharp glowing white eyes once more, and then, he pledged his allegiance to her—to the new Empress Mulan the Dragon's Soul—ultimately forgetting about keeping the throne for himself.

* * *

Her superiority flourished, and Mulan observed her random enemies fade away into history.

Meanwhile her Empire kept expanding across Warring Asia. Poverty lessened and plantations thrived, and the trading routes began to stretch farther into their neighboring lands. Even foreign kings were sending her gifts on a monthly basis. Her melting-pot of soldiers loved her for all she had accomplished; always treated her like she was born to do this.

She went on to freeing the slaves previously seized during Shan Yu's rule and she gave them similar offers: to join her ranks, or leave the palace walls and see if they were able to survive on the streets.

Everyone was becoming more and more fascinated by the woman who was this clever in politics and warfare. Above all else, no one was willing to suffer the valor of her dragonfire.

Mulan held her chin up in modest pride as she stalked through the glittering halls, Shan Yu following her like a faithful shadow. She wore feminine layers of silk most days, but she still carried a dagger at her waist and owned private sets of armor placed away in her chambers. Her Imperial Flags were dyed as black as Khan's mane, trimmed with gold and blue and sewed onto every one of them, was a red outline of the dragon Mushu breathing fire.

Then Mulan finally decided to liberate the troops who had left her alone in the snow, wounded and caked in dry blood from the Imperial dungeons.

When they were escorted into the throne room by the guards, she noted how her old cohorts even smaller in number since they had been ambushed by the Huns at the Emperor's city carnival two years ago, which was ironically held, to honor them.

In fact, her troops were hardly a troop any longer—now standing as a meek and dirty cluster of twenty-two men total.

And based on the shock written across their faces, they all were able to recognize her straightaway. True, they'd _overheard_ the other prisoners talk of a relentless Warrior Empress claiming the throne as her own, burning rival armies to the ground, and had allowed Shan Yu to become her First General, but they didn't _realize_ their old friend Ping—Fa Mulan, the deceiver—survived the cold in the mountains and became that Empress...

Naturally Ling, Yao, and Chien-Po were he first ones to speak with relief ringing in their voices, asking how she coped after they were forced to leave her stranded on the mountain. She remembered how the quirky little trio were the only soldiers that night who actually tried running up to her in the snow once Shang turned his back on her. And for that, they received a relatively thankful smile. "I had dragonfire on my side," she answered.

That's also when little Mushu appeared to them, unwinding himself from the folds of silk upon her lap, slipping to the floor so he could transform once more.

So there they were, more surprised by her secrets than ever before, and caught between by her massive dragon and the guards, with Shan Yu standing watch at the side doors too.

However, Captain Shang, planted in front of the men as if he was still in charge of them, seemed the most astounded. His face was stern as it was in the past and his jaw was set in cold defiance seeing Shan Yu in person again, but Mulan saw the regret and the bewilderment dancing behind his eyes.

Ling, Yao, Chien-Po strolled past him without a second thought and fell to ground, promising her their devoted service.

The other defeated soldiers shortly followed suit, asking her and Mushu for forgiveness.

Among the row of bent backs, Shang was left standing upright, observing the men with newfound uncertainty.

Then he dared to look at her directly.

"What say you, Li Shang? Do you wish to wear armor again?" Her cunning stare was fairly bright and nimble, yet it still put a certain weight on his shoulders he couldn't quite name. She was like a rare delicate flower the wouldn't have bloomed to its full potential if hadn't been watered by blood or warmed by fire.

As a warrior and as his father's son, he had never feared death. But if there's one thing Shang honestly never quite mastered, it was handling guilt...the kind of guilt one felt for sparing a woman's life simply to repay a debt, although still leaving her alone in the wilderness and then realizing it was all a mistake, because some time later, he would be entirely at _her_ mercy.

He had once underestimated Fa Ping, who managed to prove his first opinions wrong. Shang knew he should have learned that lesson by now. Mulan, this...woman, should be never be misjudged.

He had taught her the skills at camp, thinking she was a pathetic lad learning about war, but now her tactics had clearly exceeded his own. He was once a Captain. Now he was in rags, and she was sitting up on the Imperial throne itself, she controlled Shan Yu, she raised the armies China currently had, and she was cherished by a _dragon_.

Never letting go of her eyes, Shang finally and slowly, bowed himself.


	5. In the Land Down Under

**Thanks to those who have recently Followed this story! **

**An update was in order.**

* * *

_-.-.-.-_

_I'll be your keeper for life_

_I'll be your warrior of care_

_Your first warden_

_I'll be your angel on-call_

_ I'll be on demand_

_The greatest honor_

_As your guardian_

_._

—Guardian

by Alanis Morisette

_-.-.-.-_

The ocean had its secrets in the land Down Under.

But so did the desert, and a legend had been born there.

A hooded figure, draped in a cloak made of long golden feathers was said to roam through the wilderness, protecting the bluffs and all of its creature inhabitants. Some claimed it was nothing but a homeless teenager who withdrew for society when he came of age—he had no friends nor a mother left in his life. The native tribes came to believe he could be a ghost of a boy who had died in the crocodile invested ponds and no one ever knew about it.

Regardless of being dead or alive, the boy would seemingly appear out of thin air whenever poachers armed with guns dared to cause havoc along the coastline.

He had been called several names before too—from that _Feathered Desert Ghost_ to _The Boy who Flies with Eagles_—since obviously, no one in town could remember his actual name. Nobody then thought he would even answer to his real name if they used it anyway.

The rumors claimed it had been a long time since he was that small child who lived with his widowed mother, adventurous and changing with every breeze flowing in from the East.

The animals there reveled in his company, because strange as it would sounded, the boy learned to speak in their various tongues. He was apparently so kind and insightful once to their troubles with mankind that the Great Marahute herself entrusted him, and only him, to ride on her wings and to keep every single feather that molted from them.

Great Marahute's three fledglings followed in her path, faithfully awaiting for the boy to return to them, knowing they would never go hungry or ever get trapped in a hunter's net when he was around.

Although while the seasons turned and turned back again, Great Marahute grew old and slow, eventually dying out with the summer's last moon and in her honor, the boy supposedly had taken her place as the other Eagles' caretaker, became their fourth brother. In fact, before the boy buried Great Marahute, he used her ribs and sharpest talon to fashion himself a spear of his own; that way a piece of her would always be with them.

And as he had promised her, he'd defend the nest no matter what. He'd defend their convocation, their family.

So when a pair of new poachers both tall, tanned, and broad shouldered reentered their territory, seeking the _only_ treasure this part of the country had to offer them, the Feathered Desert Ghost was notified immediately by the field mice. As fearsome as they looked decked out in their weathered clothing and quality weaponry, they were still very naïve, and clearly much too sure of themselves to heed the warnings of the locals to not go hunting for the Golden Eagles. They maneuvered their four-wheeled auto contraptions, roaring with loud engines over the land without the proper respect for the earth or written laws and had disturbed many of the animals' homes along their way to the bluffs.

However, the boy was not that far behind them, knowing exactly where they were headed. He had formerly made a law of his own on the behalf the creatures who could not speak for themselves against humans—for, to many people, animals were considered a lesser race, live beings placed in existence only to serve a man's needs alone. But for the boy, this was not so. In spite of his youth, he was wiser than anyone else crossing in areas like these. _He_ knew animals had their own souls, their own clans, their own rights to the desert, and that they certainly outshined such greedy, haughty men.

The particular law was: trespass once and a life may be spared, but trespass twice, then a life may be taken in Great Marahute's name.

These new poachers were no better than the dead ones before them.

They thought they would gain their trophies with ease...they thought they were the most dangerous things out there. They thought they were invincible, untouchable, divine; though the boy's lips curled in distaste at the idea. He could tell by their heartless glee and their mock-howls ringing out from below that they were not gods, and they surely couldn't be that spiritual.

They had parked their contraptions and thereafter began their search through the long patch of jungle leaves, aiming for the rocky edge where the nest was located, and the boy soon made his first move.

The two poachers noticed the odd dancing shadows circling high above them. They looked up into the sky, feeling the winds shift in direction. Both had curiosity plastered on their features when the three large silhouettes tuned in and became Golden Eagles, all fluttering down one by one to land only several feet from them.

As the third one lowered himself to the forest flooring, his rider skillfully slid off the shoulder and jumped down, throwing back his hood. The teenager straightened himself before moving closer. His wild hair was a rich blonde, a color matching the Eagle feathers he wore and it would have reached his shoulders if it weren't for the few loose braids he had tied in it. His brown eyes were fierce, like a dingo out on the prowl, fierce like his heart been hardened by loss and all the evils lurking around the urban world.

When he spoke, his voice somehow sounded older than his body, coming out smooth and hollow. "You can't cross here. Leave this place while you can."

"Who'dya think you are, boy?" the second poacher demanded, sniggering openly at him, overall refusing to be run off by this _child_. "Why don't cha run along now and go play at home. I bet your mummy's worried 'bout cha."

The boy reacted quickly and drew up his spear that rattled with threaded seashells around a talon fastened to the end—and he slid the sharp tip right into the poacher's throat, stifling his laughter. Blood dripped to the soil, feeding the sands as his body fell with a scratchy thud.

The three Golden Eagles behind the boy snapped their beaks, puffed out their breasts, and shrieked at the other man in warning.

Startled by this, the first poacher stumbled backwards.

"You can't cross here," the boy repeated, now pounding the gripping end of his spear into the soil with a type of implied authority. "You must turn back and then respectfully bury each trophy, tail, tooth, and hide have already collected today in its rightful place. If you refuse, you too will be punished."

In that instant, the humid air grew denser than before and the suspense weighed heavily upon the man after he realized he was being watched...watched from the ground watched from the sidelines, from everywhere. The poacher lifted his head and turned in place, skimming the trees around him. Animals of all breeds, shapes, and sizes were gathered in the clearing and glared back at him, as if they _understood_ who he was and what he had done to their friends. Scavenger birds cawed dangerously in the distance, the wild cats hissed from their perch on the fallen logs nearby, and a whole pit of venomous serpents appeared from their holes in the sand and began to slowly slither over the toes of their boots, threatening to coil higher if the poacher made one wrong move.

"They will do to you what you like to do them," clarified the boy, "Skins for skins. Meat for meat."

...If there's one thing that can frighten a man in the face danger, it is that primal, evolutionary fear of being eaten alive by something else.

"No, no. Please," so said the poacher, sputtering lightly, his hands lifting in surrender. "I'll go. I'll go and do what you say. Just let me go."

Hence, the boy accepted his plea and the first poacher was spared. He was permitted to leave the clearing unharmed, becoming that much wiser about the bluffs, and did exactly what he was told. He respectfully buried each trophy, tail, tooth, and hide he and his comrade already collected that day in their rightful place.

From the upper ledge the boy and the Eagle brothers oversaw everything in case the poacher would turn back on his word. And he didn't, which personally satisfied the boy enough. But as the poacher patted dirt over the last hide he had and sped off in his dreadful contraption, the Eagles seemed apprehensive yet.

The boy sighed, and his fist tightened on his spear. "It isn't over, is it?"

The three Eagle brothers all chirped and ruffled their wing feathers as a way to reply, _"More will come eventually."_

Therefore the Feathered Desert Ghost, the Boy who Flies with Eagles, built himself another nest along the bluffs right above Great Marahute's rotting one, and while the years still passed by him, it was said that his nest became a shack and that shack became a glorious treehouse stretching out over the restless rivers below. From thereon, he went on to kill every outsider or poacher who disobeyed his law, and he only spoke to the earthbound animals, and only held council with the ancient trees, and only traveled in the air by Eagle.

And he was roaming still.


	6. Of Blood and Diamonds

*** Please note that I wrote this chapter so it would fall in line with the Disney Classic animated version of _Alice in Wonderland_ more than the Disney/Burton version made in 2010. **

**Don't get me wrong, I enjoy watching both versions, but Burton's post-story timeframe doesn't correlate here.**

**In reality, this is simply meant to be my own "Twisted" sequel-reimagining of Carroll's _Through the Looking Glass_. **

* * *

_-.-.-.-_

_ I'm not afraid to face _

_ a little bit of danger, danger_

_I don't believe in fairy tales,_

_but I believe in you and me_

_Take me t' Wonderland_

_._

—Wonderland

by Natalia Kills

_-.-.-.-_

Various orals histories do tend to divert or swerve a little from fact overtime.

With that said, no one from the Outside had ever known that the original Cheshire of the Wonder Lands was far more capable than simply vanishing one physical part at a time. Oh no, in truth, he was born a shapeshifter like the Cheshires before him, a shapeshifter to the utmost degree, taking the forms of many different creatures thorough the years, one of which was a humanlike being much like Alice, only he was male where she was female. Cheshire just happened to favor the shape of the feline over anything else, because he valued the whole package. The eyesight, the swiftness, the agility, the climbing, the fangs, and of course, gaining more life altogether. Nine lives to be exact.

Thus when Alice first came to them as a girl, naïve and curious, Cheshire was barely reaching his second life, actually more of a kitten speaking with a youthful boyish tone in place a grown tomcat sounding like an old bearded man. That specific change in his role lied in the hands of Alice's neighbor from the Outside World. He was a struggling writer looking for some fresh inspiration and fame, and was the practically the only person who'd be willing to sit and chat with Alice on a weekly basis. All the while the rest of England deemed Alice completely mad, plagued by some unknown childhood trauma. Strange nightmares. But regardless of the writer's own inner opinion of Alice, or whether he believed a single word she told, he still took his opportunity, and he scripted down her wild adventures into books, and soon claimed himself as the rightful author once he realized how well the Alice in Wonderland stories were selling as something to read to children when tucking them into bed.

Meanwhile in the aftermath of his success, Alice's parents and her older sister feared that Alice's darkening emotions towards their neighbor going out and rewriting, reshaping, and republishing Alice's own personal "past" would trigger the dreams to resurface. Few nights later Alice had even gone missing. She had climbed down from her bedroom balcony with the sheets tied into a rope thrown over the edge. They found her though, feverously smashing her way into the bookshop window and begun pulling and tearing apart every copy of _Alice in Wonderland_ within her reach. She was a flurry of hot salty tears, blue ruffles and yellow curls flying out, long and loose. It had taken everyone present there to seize her thrashing limbs and carry Alice home before the authorities threatened to step in.

"It's not a tale to tell small innocent children! It is not a light and joyous tale to be laughed at!" Alice screamed at the White Coats. Arrangements were made that morning to have her shipped back to the Asylum for another month to re-mend herself. And as the professional keepers of her lingering sanity, the doctors had walked in asking her what was bothering her now after she'd made this much progress to return home in the first place? "I'd like to see Lewis wander through Wonderland and try to come out of it unscathed! But no; I imagine...yes, I do imagine...he wouldn't take it any more seriously than he has now and for that, the Jabberwocky would eat him alive! If not the Jabberwocky, it'd be the Bandersnatch claws for him then!"

What a terrible result that was indeed, but, Alice knew as long as they allowed her to keep the mirror inside her cell, she wouldn't have to endure the coldness of London's Asylum again all alone. She would repeatedly wait till nightfall when the door guards would leave her sights and she'd travel beyond that looking glass to venture back into Wonderland.

That's when the real Cheshire and Alice became something of an item as they began to surpass adolescence together. By that time Cheshire could appear as a tall handsome lad himself if he wished it so, owning the same rose reddish hair, those clever yellow eyes with all ten pale fingers and ten sturdy toes to count for, and naturally, that trademark smile which revealed every little lovely tooth of his.

During every visit that followed, Cheshire was always there to act as Alice's healer or her confidant, her personal trickster or causal playmate. He came to enjoy the riddles they would give each other and the occasional picnics they'd share along the White Queen's riverbank, and yes, he even reveled in attending the tea parties hosted by Mad Hatter, becoming Alice's gentleman escort.

Though all of their pleasantries—as Alice would call them—did not go unnoticed for too long since the Red Queen was a nosey, jealous, and vengeful creature by nature. She longed to challenge Alice to reset things right according to her ruling. She made a personal note to approach them in her carriage one day and willingly revealed to Alice that their entire countryside was actually laid out in squares, just like an enormous chessboard. After doing so, she additionally offered to make Alice a Queen in Wonderland permanently...that is, if Alice could beat her in another match.

Delighted to think she could very well be freed from her common society and the trouble it had with her for good, Alice boldly chose to stay and accepted the challenge, and she was then placed as one of the White Queen's pawns. Although, Alice inwardly admitted that the match was a harder, more complex journey compared to her first, for there were many new episodes of utter upside-down nonsense she had to work through while conquering each row. At the very least, she was accompanied by her old allies for the most of the way: the March Hare, the fat Tweedle brothers, and Mad Sir Hatta, who ultimately in their strange wondrous fashion, all helped her cross through several gates at a time.

By and by, Alice had arrived at her final destination still in one piece despite her flaunting a couple of cuts and bruises dented into her skin. Cheshire was awaiting her there all along with Absolem, and he quietly confessed that he had peeked in on her on occasion and just couldn't reveal himself completely because the Red Queen's instructions forbade him to do so. He was magically bound to observe the match from afar and nothing more. Since the Red Queen learned that they were now lovers, he wasn't allowed to stand by her. The temptation to cheat on Alice's behalf might have been too overwhelming for him to deny.

Alice easily forgave the glitch, understanding what had happened to him at the start of the game, and so they went in hand in hand to seat themselves at the grand table instantly appearing to them upon entrance. The garden of roses around them dissolved into a royal party hall by its own will. There, they lingered to confront the Red Queen about the topic of Alice's winning titles. The Jack Card servants were in the lead and came forth to greet them, in the end pledging themselves to Alice's service instead.

Dismayed and upset at witnessing this shift in control, the Red Queen took upon herself to start one last form of protest, and she whirled into the party hall and angrily began to behead these servants one by one...the Spade, the Clubs, then the Hearts...

Equally outraged by the Red Queen's actions, Alice in return discarded whatever ladylike behaviors she had left in her, threw back her chair, and raced over to wrestle the Red Queen's scythe from her hands before the Jack of Diamonds was fully struck. Then she swung down the red-jeweled weapon with all her strength.

In consequence, when Alice captured the Red Queen's head and rolled it across the table's polished curved surface, she had unknowingly pushed the whole game right into Checkmate—the Red King stumbled out of his hiding place nearby and quickly fell to his death too, cracking open his own head over the stones after he tripped over the bleeding corpse of his wretched wife while trying to flee the place— the rivers of Red blood running under her feet had ultimately given Alice her crown— and that was what made the surviving Jack Card servant officially to be the first to kneel before her, praising, "Hail, my Queen Alice. By the diamonds ever present on my chest, I am forever yours."

The rest of the Diamond Suit stepped forward as well, sinking beside the Jack Card, thanking Alice for saving their brother's life.

* * *

Missus Liddell presently stood over her daughter's still form, speaking hesitantly, "I...just don't understand it."

The doctor sighed patiently, glancing down at the sleeping Alice as well as her mother reached down and gently stroked her yellow curls. "We have tried everything we could to stimulate her, Missus Liddell, but she's been in a comatose state like this since last week. It's as if...Alice's mind is now working in such a way to...to reject the treatment. My peers have been claiming there must be a more logical, rational explanation for this. Though, if I dare say it myself, it is possible that...Alice has consciously trapped herself in her dream world."

"But, why can't you figure out a way to reverse it?"

"Can one's imagination truly have the power to bend the laws of science and medicine?" replied the doctor, shaking his head, totally mystified. "I honestly have never seen this happen to any of my patients before. It remains a complete mystery."

"Will she ever wake?"

"I cannot say for certain...," he whispered back, all too mindful of the lady's maternal feelings breaking at the surface. "For now, it's only up to Alice to decide that."

* * *

Six months later, Alice still remained in the Wonder Lands, as promised. The White Queen happily directed her Coronation Ceremony, renaming her the Queen the Diamonds, and from there, those in all over the realm certainly knew about her.

Her Kingdom gradually transformed into what Alice wanted it to be, and that Kingdom soon became an Empire, and that Empire became their entire world.

Alice was cunning and fierce, and above all, purely creative in her governing. She was respected by all, adored by many, feared by some, and forever loved by her one suitor.

That was enough and two more years of this slipped by.

And then, upon a day when moonrise was occurring precisely at sunset on the opposite horizons, and all of the stars shown through the colorful twilight skies overhead, Sir Hatta was granted the high privilege of uniting Alice, Her Highest of Highest Highnesses and Cheshire in the bonds of marriage.

Thus Alice and her newly-appointed consort shortly settled down in a private villa built behind the Main Palace of the Wonder Courts. Its marble walls were laced with golden leaves, the indoor fountains were filled with catfish and lake lilies, and sparkling square rubies were stuffed and plastered in every shelf and nook of the place. This became what it was because Alice's vivid imaginings had no limits, and there was definitely no price tag when thinking them up.

And having Cheshire in his humanlike form perched in the throne beside hers every morning, and having him lay with her in bed every night—and holding with him in her heart every minute, and having him in her daily pattern overall—Alice hardly missed the Outside World she left behind at all.

Wonderland wasn't just her real home now, or just a streak of her madness, or even fragments of a delusional dream happening within a dream.

It was _hers_.

* * *

**Okay...so, yeah Alice married Cheshire. To ****be perfectly honest, I have never sailed on the Hatter/Alice romantic ship. I can't really say why it never sat that well with me exactly, and I never quite understood why it became "a thing" over the years throughout the franchise's tv shows and movies and such...so I really wanted to try something different than that. I didn't want to go mainstream. **

**I do however vaguely remember reading an AU fic for _American McGee's Alice in Wonderland_ once where Cheshire was actually a man-cat-shifter and Mad Alice became attracted to that side of him and they became the big badass duo. That story was very interesting to me at the time and I ended up liking it a lot by the end. So I guess this idea was kind of seeded from there.**


	7. Inside that Closet

**Here we go, another chapter. Thanks everyone!**

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_ Somewhere inside this closet_  
_Your whole life exists_  
_An evil little secret_  
_That keeps you so nervous_  
_You're boarding up your windows_  
_In fetal on the floor_  
_But what you're keeping out is on the wrong side of the door_

_I know the reason you're running scared_  
_I met the monster inside your head_  
_You never know the feeling of being alive_  
_It's not enough, it never stops coming..._

**.**

_— _Monster

by Sick Puppies

**-.-.-.-**

Ever since they were both six, Jillian has always thought that her neighbor, or the girl she'll see swinging alone at recess was an odd girl. Most of the class thinks so, anyway.

...It's as if Mary is a horrible person, no, Jillian doesn't hate Mary really, and it's not like Mary gets into a lot trouble in school. Yet, there is...something _odd_ about Mary she just can't explain. Mary _looks_ relatively normal on the outside. She's slender and slim, and sweet, and her face is pale, speckled with little brown freckles across her cheeks, and her hair is something the other girls would be jealous of. It hangs long and naturally straight against her back, and it's sleek and shiny, raven black, and even though Mary was born in America, that hair of hers is fit for a Japanese princess.

But, it's just...Mary acts like she has this secret, a big secret, and she won't share it with anyone else because it's only hers to keep, and Jillian assumes _that_ is what unsettles her. Mary's mysterious and in some way secretively special, and she's seemingly happy about that.

And while Jillian feels a little guilty believing all of this, she still dreads being forced to spend another night with Mary in the same room. They're both thirteen now and are growing up fast, however, Jillian isn't allowed to stay at home alone for several days at a time without somebody reasonable there to support her. See, the thing is that her parents worked as payed partners outside the city half of the year; they need to travel for court and such, and because of that, Jillian's usually placed within the _comfort_ of Mary's house next door. It's close by obviously, and Jillian can still get to school and use the exact same bus stops without delay, and overall it's just easier on her parents than having to risk the hassle of flying her out to California to live with her aunt every single time they had to leave.

And her parents liked Mary's parents. Their mothers first met when they were in college back then. Jillian liked Mary's parents, too. They were familiar faces, and are always kind and generous to her whenever she's due to arrive on their front step carrying her blue duffle bag, and they do what they can to make her feel entirely welcome.

It's during and after their set bedtime though, when that initial cloud of _comfort_ tends to slip away from her, and Jillian's left lying there on the foldable futon alongside of Mary's bed, huddled beneath her blanket, witnessing things she wishes that can't _exist._ This has happened before. She can confirm that Mary does have a secret like she'd thought, and it _is_ a rather big deal, but Jillian can't bring herself to say anything to the adults for she doesn't understand it herself. She can't confess if she can't even _explain_ what she wants to confess in the first place, can she? So, she keeps her mouth shut and pretends to sleep near Mary. She pretends she doesn't know that Mary will quietly sneak her way out of the covers, tiptoeing towards her closet door—and that door—the door itself is stark white with pink cherry petals painted on its front, and it looks so innocent, but as soon as Mary opens it, it has the power to unleash certain nightmares girls their age and younger _should_ be afraid of.

Jillian usually cracks an eye open, out of scorching fear and also a twisted sense of curiosity, and watches Mary slide further into the darkness of her own closet, disappearing completely for a while as if there's no real walls beyond that point (which doesn't make sense at all, since during the day, Jillian can see the four walls that make up Mary's closet.) Although, for some reason, the closet changes after sunset and transforms into something _more_ than what it seems (and obviously Mary's far too accustomed to this, because it doesn't faze her. In her black leggings and her loose pink sports tank top with thick white stripes down the middle, she'll _deliberately_ crosses that anonymous threshold eagerly.)

And _The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe_ used to be Jillian's favorite book. It's not anymore. Because in real life (in their lives) no good can come from a door turning into supernatural portals opening up to another world.

Sometimes, Jillian will even see strange shapes coming up to Mary first. There's mainly two of...whatever _they_ are, and one's terrifyingly large and broad and spikey while the other's short and round, but no less intimating, for through the shadows, Jillian might be able to catch a glimmer of one giant eye glinting under the moonlight, or the white flashes of a lot of sharp-looking teeth. And other times, she'll just hear demonic hisses and pants and grunts and voices starting to whisperings amongst themselves...voices that sound inhuman and they tend to greet Mary with saying, _"Boo."_

This peculiar gesture makes Mary laugh back at them. It doesn't make her run out and lock the closet behind her in fright.

Finally, something in Jillian's young reeling mind just happens to click into place, and the puzzle becomes a little clearer. That when the shapes say _Boo_, they mean Mary. Mary is Boo. And she's actually _friends_ with these...these...horrifying whatever-things. These monsters.

So, this is Mary's secret. This is why _something_ about her simply did not line up before.

It's natural for kids like them to be suspicious of closets during the night hours. It's a routine every youthful person goes through at one point or another: make sure all windows are drawn shut, that the nightlight is fully powered and won't die out before dawn, look under the bed cautiously for any intruders that may be hiding there, and _persistently_ double-check that the closet door is pressed firmly within its frame so there's no gaps or any possible entrance for the evil things to use to get inside.

Though, very unnaturally so, Mary-Boo always goes in search of the monsters lurking in hers.

That's where she has her fun.


End file.
